


Fantastic Beasts One Shots

by Xoxo_Sadie21



Category: Fantastic Beasts - Fandom, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, have some of my crappy writing, my babiessssss, yuuuuus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 23:19:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17517728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xoxo_Sadie21/pseuds/Xoxo_Sadie21





	Fantastic Beasts One Shots

You stand at his doorstep, soaking wet as the rain that once fell from the sky, slides down your skin. You are the definition of a puppy standing out in the cold, waiting for its owner to accept them into their adobe.  

Wild green eyes take in your form with sheer worry, and before an apology could flee from your parted—and unfortunately chapped—lips, he lunges forward and ushers you inside. His hands are messily assessing you for any injuries, other than the obvious; a couple of scratches here and there, and very few bruises that linger around your cheeks, arms, neck, collarbones.  

“Merlin’s  _beard_ , Newt. I’m fine.” You mutter, trying—and failing—to pull away from his needy hold. He doesn’t budge.  

“What  _happened_?” His voice quakes, and you take this time to look up from your feet to lock eyes with him. Instantly, your face falls with repent, and you let him guide you to the nearest couch. His hands have yet to uncage you from his grip, yet, you don’t mind the slightest. Being this close to Newt is always a privilege.  

“Nothing hap—” the words die in your throat as he stubbornly expresses his panic with narrowed, critical eyes. You sigh with defeat, shoulders sagging along with your demise. “I came in contact with some No-Majs—wouldn’t tell me who they were working for, but I know it’s Percival.”  

At the name of your assailants’ master, his jaw twitches and his hold on you stiffens. His eyes are downcast, but still, they are glued to your hands. The cuts and bruises on your knuckles become apparent to his riddled mind, and he lets go of you only to reach for your fragile limbs.  

“This is your blood, I take it?”  

You nod, cheeks growing hot from embarrassment. You don’t know how to tell him that it’s only your blood because you fought tooth and nail to get your wand back—from those vexatious rats.  

“How did that happen?” He inspects them with light movements, keeping in mind that you are vulnerable, as if you will break if not careful.  

“Punched them for taking my wand,” you blurt, biting your lip to prevent an outburst of childish, bubbly giggles. His expression remains worried, but you can see a flicker of pride in those earthly eyes of his.  

As a millisecond passes through the silent and pleasant air, he proceeds to stare at you with a soft, dreamy expression. You’ve seen this face plenty of times, and plenty of times have you caught him using it on only you. The attention never bothered you much, but you always had a difficulty keeping your focus on him when you felt yourself being lured to him on a subconscious level.  

“That’s my girl,” he praises with a dopey grin, cheeks turning a delicate rosy red. You feel your insides turn to mush at the term of endearment, wishing he would praise you over and over and over again until you feel yourself ascending to the heavens above.  

You look away, fighting the urge to grin  _that grin_  that would surely give away the fact that you are completely and deliriously in love with the boy. “I love it when you call me that,” the thought drips from your tongue just as you find the courage to glance at him. It’s a quick look, one you have to force to an end by looking at anything but him, and though you are no longer looking at him, his heeding is still visible in your peripherals.  

“Then I’ll gladly continue to refer you as such.” He complies quickly, not once stumbling over his words, but his cheeks noticeably gain a more contrasting color compared to his already red hair.  

“Good. Yeah, that’s—that’s alright. That’s fine by me.” Once again, your eyes find his. It’s a slippery, tightrope you are treading on, but you can’t help it—it’s all so daring, and you  _are_  one for a challenge.  

Clearing his throat, he scratches the back of his neck and gives you that nervous, sunstruck smile. The one you see with every poor sap who is cursed with being in love, although, you don’t know  _why_ —this is Newt, the boy who is always focused on his spell-casting, and too worried about little ole’ _Leta Lestrange._  The girl had deemed him her property way before you knew you were in love with him. But you guess things can change.

“Would you like me to clean you up? Truly, I don’t mind.” He smiles shyly, the hand that remains encompassed around your tinier one wavers, and your heart grows into that artificial skittering rhythm it produces whenever you’re near him.  

The only thing you are capable of doing is giving him a hurried nod. It’s suffices to say the least. Soon, he is standing from his spot and stumbling over uncertain feet to find the first-aid. When he walks back into the living area a mere three minutes later, you can see the great concern blooming onto his face since he has a better look at you from afar.  

He pauses mid step, eyes flittering over to look at a spot behind you. “Blimey, [Y/N],” his voice escapes him as a gasp, and he walks straight over to you, face pallid. You tense up when he looms dangerously close to your backside, hands becoming a blanket of soothing lullabies. “I need you to take off your shirt, please.”  

“I beg your pardon?” You choke out, voice low and tinted with anxiety. “Why?”

“Don’t start an argument, and just listen to me.” He orders, but his tone is laced with pure distress. You oblige with hesitation and shed your shirt, but once your shirt is off, you press it insecurely against your chest to shield yourself.  

As you sit patiently, unable to see the expression on his face, his hands immediately reach to touch your back. When his fingertips slide over your skin, you suck in a harsh breath, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. A sharp sting migrates from the spot he touched to almost every part of your body. Every little intake of air, you find yourself tensing with unease.  

“Oh right,” you deadpan, face contorting into realization at his discovery. You remember your attackers gaining on you, and they managed to get a few good licks in. You’re sure there are some nasty boot indents on your swollen skin. “How does it look then?”  

“It looks—it’s fine. No major damage.” By the curt reply, you know he’s lying or trying to avoid what your back really looks like. You know there must be some sort of scarring to ensue from the impact made upon your skin.  

You laugh at that, “Oh you forget how well I know you, my darling Newt.” 

“I haven’t quite forgotten, [Y/N]. I’ve just become more prone to your sensitivity among injuries.” 

“Well, I’m quite fond of how you take care of me,” you whisper it, heart constricting in your chest from the pressure you can feel from his wandering eyes. 

“I’ll never stop taking care of you.”

“Of course,” you smile despite the pain that ripples through you when he continues to clean your wounds. “It’s in your nature to take care of people, Newt. That’s why I like you.” 

“But, with you it’s different. Surely, you must know that I care for you more than most.” His hands are unbelievably warm against your damp skin, and even though there is pain, his touch sends delightful shivers up and down your back. You almost want to lean into it.

“You’re my best friend, after all.”

“No. Not like that,” his touch becomes more affectionate, and you feel that if you continue to delude him like this, then he might just take it further. Amidst his naturally innocent and timid essence, there have been some times where you think he is anything but that. He might just have the guts to prove to you just how much of a delinquent he really is. “I… fancy you. In the most unyielding, and devoted ways possible.” 

You shiver as his breath mingles over your back, skin ablaze with desire. A desire you never though you could muster, but as it lingers over you and hangs in the comfortable silence that follows his confession, you take it upon yourself to turn around to look at him. 

“You have enchanted me, the  _moment_ I first laid eyes on you.” He finishes, cheeks burning yet eyes devoured by compassion and intimacy— two of the very things you seen with Jacob and Queenie. 

It’s heart-soaring, to say the least, but you can’t help but feel like you are suffocating in some way. Your hands have somehow managed to wrestle their way to his forearms, gripping with desperation, with a need to hibernate within his embrace. It’s all very confusing, but as soon as he parts his lips, you surge forward, connecting and colliding in a maniacal manner. 

Immediately, Newt wraps his arms around you to pull you closer. His lips are a blanket of pure heaven and you don’t want to quit. Your hands hover over uncharted areas, but you settle one through his hair, and the other on his chest to steady yourself. It doesn’t matter though because he has you grounded to your spot with his own hands. 

Between each kiss, you pull only slightly away to ingest a gulp of air. Then before you can even blink, his lips are right back on yours with a want so strong it forces your body to curve into him. 

It is in this moment when you realize that his lips are incredulously kissable and soft and while as you are hungrily causing them to swell, he is ever-so-gentle with you, and he always will be. 

When you pull apart, he cups both of your cheeks and kisses the crown of your temple once before doing the same to your nose. And now he’s staring with a vulnerability that you are the sole perpetrator of. 

“What just happened?” You touch your lips, eyes like stars. 

“Talk about delayed reaction,” he chuckles, continuing to stare at you as if you are royalty. 

“So… you love me, then?”


End file.
